


Devil’s Haste and Angel Wings

by Bidawee



Category: Hockey RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe - Angels & Demons, Amputation, Angel Wings, Angels, Demons, M/M, Manipulation, Pining, Rape/Non-con Elements, Rivalry, Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-01
Updated: 2018-07-01
Packaged: 2019-05-31 12:33:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,936
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15119495
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bidawee/pseuds/Bidawee
Summary: The devil can cite scripture for his purposes.





	Devil’s Haste and Angel Wings

**Author's Note:**

> Warning: please heed the tags. This story is noticeably dark; most of mine are but this one especially so. If you need me to tag anything, let me know.  
> Inspired by the folktale of the child tearing a butterfly's wings off so that it couldn't fly away.

He’d been unable to look away when they brought the first one in; snarling and scratching the carpet with his twining claws like some kind of animal. Nolan supposed it fit the picture, but unlike the creatures in the storybooks with their goatees and horns embedded deep in their skulls, the man in front of him looked rather normal. Had Nolan passed him by on the streets there wouldn’t be an inkling of suspicion that he was anything other than a human on the morning commute.

His fingers curled at his sides, itching to make himself of use, but scared stiff. Luckily, the other angels had no such hesitation. Their muscles bulged with strength as they forced the man’s- no, the  _ devil’s _ head down, crushing his nose against the matted carpet. When the wet noises began to seep into the air, Nolan couldn’t help but direct his line of vision elsewhere, unable to watch his friends act on their urges.

“Nolan, are you catching this?” a voice had crowed. Ivan, from the sounds of it; he had a knack for showing off when he did these things.

“What?” came his watery reply. His head turned, but when his nose caught the sour tang of demon blood his hand came up as an immediate barrier between him and the action. Whatever growls the demon had been making was reduced to pitiful whimpers.

“It’s as I told you, you need to hold him here.” The thumb was the marker, circling the pressure point on the neck where the shoulder blades were paralleling. Nolan watched as the tips of their fingertips glowed, one hand secured around the nape as another angel took the man by the horns and dug into the hard material of the bone’s core. The keratin in a demon’s fingernails looked so virtuous when it wasn’t stained inky black and used to shapen into weapons.

The problem was not only that the demon, devil, the  _ undesirable _ they’d demonstrated on was living, but that Nolan had been unable to focus on the presentation because of the fear in the creature’s eyes. Dynamics aside, there was something pitiful inside that called to him. He should not have to be stripped of his few powers, influence, and dignity to fit into some political agenda.

However, there was only one of him, and three other Flyers. Their wings were adjourned, spread out and encapsulating the room as if the gloat; poke fun at the meek, misshapen body on the ground for losing them as its soul was sent back to hell, free from the mortal place. He refused to try and understand how someone could do such a thing and call themselves good. Manning's creepy smile, Ivan's spitting and hollering, Couturier barricading the door so that even if the poor thing tore itself free, it'd soon be shot down. 

There was also a secondary factor though, one he’d tried hard to hide. A more human factor, one he could sympathize with. Because despite them trying to turn Nolan into the next generational demon vanquisher, there was no erasing that he was best friends with the enemy, and not just the enemy, but the heir apparent. 

Nico Hischier was a lot of things, but sweet was the first thing that came to mind. He was giggly and always warm, perfect to curl up to. He could speak German, was great with kids, and loved watching professional sports. And despite all the lies and rumours spread by his so-called family, not once had he taken advantage of Nolan. Even when his back was turned and senses dulled, Nico’s first instinct was to walk up behind him and press his hips flat to Nolan’s back, laughing into the skin behind his ear.

Now that all-out war had been declared, the worry was eating him alive. They shouldn’t have messed with someone so high up in command, it was destined to stir the melting pot of reasons as to why the Devils should rebel and invade. Their human influence gave them a good footing, but they also outnumbered the Flyers almost three to one. They could do lethal damage if given the opportunity.

He had difficulty keeping down water let alone food that night. Almost comatose, he decided fresh air would likely be the deciding factor. Under the guise of preaching, he slipped out of his house, scurrying down the dimly lit blocks until he reached the motel many Devils were notorious for renting out, chock full of sleazy activity. The top balconies were decked in flashing holiday lights, the colours every so slightly warming and cooling. Patio furniture made the already small balconies look ever more cramped. 

Most Flyers wouldn’t be caught dead here--it was just as bad as New Jersey--but Devils looked down when he walked by, the immunity granted from their unlikely and quite frankly forbidden friendship making them view him differently and even protect him. All the more reason to advocate for peace between the two magical races before they destroyed humans in the process.

He could see a man leaning against the side of the building, a steady flow of smoke pouring out from his mouth with each bellow. Nolan walked closer, until the dim street light gave him a better look at the person and brought more features to his attention.

Nico greeted him with a cheerful little wave, spitting out the cigarette from between his teeth and stomping it under his heel. Nolan eyed the bud with disdain.

“You shouldn’t smoke Nico, it’s bad for you.” Nico rolled his eyes, cheeks nearly glowing.

“Please, one cigarette never hurt anybody.” Without waiting for a response, Nico gave him the shoulder and disappeared inside, body striped with the milky yellow hues of the main lobby. “Now c’mon, it’s cold outside.”

The inside of the room smelled of disinfectant, floors dusted with greenish dirt. Nico led him up a scratchy looking staircase and tapped on the room number at the direct right of the staircase, the brass colouring of the odd numbers lit up by the moonlight. The doors closed them inside and made a noise that sounded like elevator shaft rattling as it hit the frame harshly on Nico’s direction.

“Thanks for coming all the way here,” Nico said, him stinking entirely of tobacco. He moved close enough that the smell transferred over to Nolan, who’s nose twinkled.

“Oh, I don’t mind. It will be nice spending time with you.”

Nico flushed, looking up as he chewed on the edge of his lip. The bashfulness suited his foxy features. “It’s not exactly what I’d call home.”

The wallpaper was patchy, and the smell was distinctly old. Nolan tried to not look like he was holding his breath, but Nico must have noticed anyway because he gave him a little pat that forced the breath out of him.

“You’re so tense, Nols. Relax.”

Nico had sculpted hands that kneaded into the knots woven into his muscles with a type of precision that only a masseuse could lay claim to. He melted to warm goo in his hands, shoulders losing their bunching tension until he could plop down beside him with a groan. The crappy motel couch they were supplied with creaked under their combined weight.

“It’s good to see you again,” Nolan admitted, kicking his feet up so that they were resting on Nico’s lap. Nico obliged, one hand grabbing his ankle.

“You too. When you called I was surprised, but happy. I miss having you around. People here are, well, bleh,” Nico said. His tongue stuck out. It was bright red, offsetting a white shimmer near the gums.

Nico’s grin was primarily lopsided, showing a glint of fangs peeking out from the lip. That, and his rosy cheeks gave off a childish persona that put Nolan at ease. He’d heard that demon fangs were quite the commodity, with the ability to curse and misfortune all those that touched it. He’d never been so close to them outside of training exercises, where falsified tusks were carved to take the form of the would-be bared and nipped at his throat. It ultimately gave Nico’s the allure that came with the specimen’s inherent rarity.

Nico seized a look of him smiling and sniggered, flashing a full smile of pointy teeth at him. “That’s a first. Didn’t take you for teeth enthusiast.” It was so unlike him to say something like that, which made Nolan’s persona break, him smiling in return.

“They’re so cool. Don’t you like, cut yourself with them?”

Nico shrugged. “No, not really. Wanna look?” he asked, alluding to politeness and in turn, receiving a fierce nod from Nolan. Nico’s jaw nearly unhinged then and there, the teeth poking out more prominently and salivating for attention. 

Running on autopilot, Nolan saw no qualms in uncurling his fingers and steadily moving them upwards, as if approaching a rabid dog, to get a closer look.

“Wow,” he said breathily, when the first touch prompted a legitimate spark, their energies colliding. It was like caressing the jagged edge of a knife, the sexual tension spiking as he inched up beside him. If what the folktales said were true, to defang a demon was to release it from a cycle of violence and do a duty for the Lord, then he be damned.

“And you have horns too?” he asked, fairly close to the seat of Nico’s tongue, that was lazily slopped over to give Nolan a better look.

“Yhah,” Nico slurred, “this tlue.” Nolan took pity on his garbled speech and released him.

Nico massaged his jaw. “Wow, for a Flyer, you got a strong grip.” Nolan laughed to himself, privately. Unabashed. 

“Okay, my turn.” Nico tapped on the bridge of Nolan’s collarbone twice, egging him to leave the safety of the ratty motel couch.

“I don’t have fangs, sorry,” he replied, opening his mouth for good measure to prove that he had painfully average square-shaped molars.

“Not that, your wings.” Nolan’s blood dropped in temperature, like he’d been dunked in ice. “I’ve never seen an angel’s wings before. I’m a naturally-born demon so I never had them. I want to see what I was missing out on.”

“Oh, they’re not special,” Nolan hurried. “They’re just bitchy and need a lot of special attention. You’re not supposed to show them to anybody.”

“C’mon Nolan, pleeeease!” Nico jumped up beside him, almost sitting on Nolan’s thigh in the process. He was donning his best puppy-dog eyes. “I showed you my teeth, and we both know those are just as important.” His lips were so close, Nolan almost wanted to rush him and act on his feelings.

Deep down, he still felt nauseous but had to admit his friend brought up a good point--not that Nolan would ever hurt a fly let alone try to defang a demon. It wouldn’t be fair, and besides, if he was going to go about his initiative of changing the Flyers’ perspective he would have to suspend his fears and look for the best in people. Even if in the past, circumstances would state otherwise. Nico should not have to suffer for his ancestors' mistakes and his birthright.

“Okay, but only for a short bit.” He peeled off his shirt at a snail’s pace, biting at his lip upon noticing the heated look he was receiving in exchange. Sure, it was befitting of a minx, but he wanted to give a little show--distance himself from that pure facade if only for a few minutes and appeal to Nico’s tastes. 

Once his back was unclothed, he set his shirt down on the arm of the couch and stood to give himself wing space. Claude’s warning about revealing himself reverberated back at him, but he shook it off just as quickly. He was not under his control anymore.

A rush of euphoria flashed through his system as his wings sprouted and unfurled into their full wingspan, almost knocking off the complimentary water bottles on the petite “living room” table. It was like taking off a pair of tight shoes, anxiety leaving with the feeling of reclusiveness he’d fallen victim to. 

“Woah,” Nico breathed, a look of wonder spread across his features, only nullified by the dosage of smugness underneath that showed through. “They’re so beautiful. And probably so soft.”

“Wanna touch?” Nolan threw Nico’s words right back at him, sheathing his trepidation for when he’d actually need it. Nico was still mimicking the stance of a newborn calf.

“I kind of can’t get around,” Nico replied, gesturing at the close walls boxing them in. Nolan folded his wings inwards so that he could turn on his heel and show off the scapulars, the sense of invincibility almost addicting.

It was amplified when he felt that first touch on the primary feathers layering the outer primaries and primary coverts. The fingers’ weight was so faint that he could mistake it for a gust of wind.

“‘I’m not made of glass, go on.” The goading made Nico more adventurous, the tickling sensation becoming more palpable. Now, he could feel the callouses on Nico’s hands without fail, the excess sensation almost stifling

“You don’t feel this?” Nico whispered, stroking back and forth along the convert where the main bone rested.

“I do now, but it’s not painful or anything.” Nolan’s head turned around, trying to see what he was doing. Nico had an enamoured look on his face, the affection so blatant that even Nolan couldn't deny it was aimed at him. The thought made his heart beat faster, so much so that he ignored when Nico's hands started trembling, his loving expression becoming stony. 

“Not when I do this?” Nico began pulling harder and the ripple effect almost had Nolan collapse to his knees.

“Okay, okay, Nico, that’s enough!” But the volatile shoving didn’t stop, only escalated further until his knees did buckle and the beginning of white-hot pain blossomed in his lower spine where the muscles were clenched. 

His body was cold with sweat, eyes scrunched up as nails digging into the carpet. The gritty texture rubbed back and forth against his stomach, painting his skin a blotchy red. The weight that had settled on his back hadn’t subsided once, and the rug burn on his thighs where the cloth had rolled up was unforgiving.

“Hold still, or it’ll hurt more,” hissed the voice above him, but he didn’t listen.

Hands grabbed at his shoulder and forced him down. The fingernails poked at his skin until the folds gave way and his wings sprung out. They hit the demon above him, uncurling and shedding downy white feathers. The creature hummed in appreciation, stroking the bony hides with a new sense of gentleness. Nolan couldn’t see, but he did know by now his white colour would be painted red from the strain, the magic tendrils holding the illusion together weakening.

“The bones are so slim, I can practically hold them in my hand.” And then he started pulling again. Nolan screamed, the sound practically a squeal. It was like someone had taken hold of his arm and tried to pull it out of its socket; it not only hurt but felt inhumane. 

His heart palpitations steadily increased as he fought off the unwanted advances, twisting around until he could bend his knees and put some momentum towards arching up and out of Nico’s hold. The only problem was, before he could succeed beyond the point of straightening his back out, Nico’s knee had firmly planted itself on his back underneath the wing bone and forced him to the ground, all the air flowing out of his lungs through his wide-open mouth, which was still screaming for bloody mercy even despite the vomit inching up his throat.

Then, an emptiness. Something void, a phantom limb flapping around where there should be wings, grasping for purchase. He wriggled in the spot, trying to collect his bearings and not throw up more than he already had, but the shock of the attack was still fresh and even twitching made painful aftershocks rack through his ribcage. His throat was hoarse from screaming.

“Shh,” Nico hushed him, two hands coming up to the back of his neck to pinch his nape. Nolan was too weak to shake them off. “It’s okay, you’re safe now.”

Nolan whimpered, smelling the smoke from the disintegrated wings torn free from his soul as it wafted about his nose and wormed underneath his stomach. Being an angel, there was no blood, but he could still imagine thick substance decorating the floor in bright red smears. 

“You look so much prettier now; a true devil. I’m doing you a favour. It’s cruel what they do you up there, I know. Would someone created in the image of a God reject their own offspring?” That’s the first indication Nolan got to think of his parents, the Flyers, the cause he’d been proud to serve. All of them would turn his noses up at him and declare him an enemy without his feathered appendages.

“Help,” Nolan croaked. “I’ll die.”

“Don’t worry, I too once thought a life without wings wasn’t worth living.” Nico’s hand wrapped around to brush away the sweat-soaked bangs cluttering Nolan’s forehead. “I was wrong. This is who we’re meant to be." Lips smacked across the stretch of back where the wings should've been, now empty and all laid out bare for the devil. If hands could ask for forgiveness, then it was a pitiful attempt.

He heard what sounded like a string pulled taut snapping and lost consciousness. 

**Author's Note:**

> come talk with me @cursivecherrypicking on tumblr!! always love your comments and support especially when it's concerning fics. love all of you!!


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